It's Kind of a Funny Story
by audrey hepcat
Summary: Day by day, nothing ever seemed to change in Xander Harris's life, but when he finally stopped to look around, everything was different. Everything except his seemingly indestructible Looney Tunes watch and the way it made him think about a certain loud-m


**Title: **It's Kind of a Funny Story

**Author:** audrey hepcat

**Rating:** PG-13

**Pairing:** Xander/Cordelia

**Summary:** Day by day, nothing ever seemed to change in Xander Harris's life, but when he finally stopped to look around, everything was different. Everything except his seemingly indestructible Looney Tunes watch and the way it made him think about a certain loud-mouthed, brown-haired girl.

**Disclaimer:** _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ belongs to Joss Whedon. I only wish it belonged to me.

**A quick word from our sponsors:** Okay, first thing's first: I am so, so sorry that this is my first new post in forever-and-a-half. Not that it makes much of a difference, but I have a good excuse. Aside from the craziness that is my double major at college and a busted laptop, I also spent the majority of my summer working sixty hours a week at an internship that pays me, well, _nothing_. So, needless to say, my writing took a backseat to real life issues for a while. Thankfully, I'm back, and I come bearing the gift of more Xander/Cordy fic!

Now that all that junk is out of the way, a little backstory on my latest pet project: I woke up from a very bizarre dream the other night with the burning desire to write a story about my favorite Buffyverse couple and how a seemingly insignificant object is present during the most important moments of their relationship. That object: Xander's totally bitchin' Tweety Bird watch from way back in Season 1. It sounds a little wacky, but hopefully, if you bear with me, you'll end up loving the idea as much as I do. Anyway, on to the story...

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**1994**

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Everybody who was anybody—under the age of fifteen, that is—knew that Cordelia Chase threw the biggest, baddest, most rich person-y parties on the planet. Okay, okay, maybe not the _entire_ planet, but the greater Tri-state area, for sure. Didn't matter the holiday (Halloween, Fourth of July, Arbor Day), you could always count on Queen C and her merry band of minions to put the "special" in special occasion. At least, that's what people said. 'People' being every kid in the seventh grade who wasn't a Willow, a Xander, or a Jesse, all three of whom were spending their not-so-rockin' New Year's Eve in Ira and Sheila 'we're so square, we've got corners' Rosenberg's basement with Dick Clark and a bag of baby carrots. And they said licensed therapists didn't know how to throw a good party?

Xander's eyebrows knit into a frown as he looked down at the too-big plastic cup sitting atop his coaster (always a _must_ at Chez Rosenberg). "Ah, Will? What's this... primordial soup-looking liquid?"

Willow twined her fingers together and found something of interest to stare at near her shoe. "Oh, um, it's this veggie juice my mom started making after she watched that episode of _Oprah_ where they talked about soda and sweet drinks and stuff. Apparently, they're full of this chemical called 4-Mel that gets kids high and causes really bad things to happen. Like cancer."

"Oh, right." Xander raised the glass to his mouth, trying not to cringe as the flavor of undiluted celery sludge met his tastebuds. "We definitely don't want the cancer," he coughed.

"Wait. Somebody has cancer?"

Xander and Willow both turned to face the basement stairs, one of them disappointed, the other stupidly oblivious. Apparently, Jesse was back from his never-ending bathroom break.

"No, Jesse," Willow said, the smallest kernel of anger coloring her voice. "Nobody has cancer."

Jesse ran across the room at a tripping step, threw himself across the couch, and said, "Bummer. Nothing interesting ever happens in this town."

"Jesse I-can't-quite-remember-your-middle-name McNally," Willow squeaked. "That's horrible, and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

Jesse gave a non-committal shrug, and Xander struggled to keep from smiling. His Will was too darn cute when she was indignant. Come to think of it, she was pretty darn cute all the time, but there was something special—a sort of indefinable charm—about the way her mouth turned down at the corners and her eyes got big every time Jesse said something mean or sexual.

"So," Xander's voice cut through the silence like a machete through butter, "how 'bout we do something a little less boring with the rest of our night?"

Jesse pumped his fist in the air and pounded his chest. "Yes, man. Fuck yes."

"Bad word." Willow smacked the side of Jesse's face with one of her mother's embroidered throw pillows before settling her gaze on Xander and saying, "You're bored?"

Xander scrubbed the heel of his hand against his knee, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. "Sorry, Will, but on a scale of one to ten, this party's an _Out of Africa_."

"I like that movie." Willow's voice was small and sad, and when Xander heard it, he suddenly backpedalled, launching into a spirited defense of both Meryl Streep and baby carrots.

"Me, too. With the liking, that is. I mean, it's a movie about Africa and... getting out of it. All very exciting. Just like this quality shindig you've put together with the carrots and the, um... the carrots. Here's to twenty-twenty vision!" He picked up his half-full glass of vegetable juice and downed it in one gulp.

"No, you're right," Willow said, whipping the Resolve Face out of her back pocket and pulling it on, "this party is totally pooped. We need a Plan B."

Jesse's head perked up with keen, collie dog interest. "We could crash Her Majesty's annual bikini ball?"

"Or..." Willow started, her awkward fidgeting a dead giveaway—at least to Xander's keenly-tuned Willow radar—that she was in no mood to play punching bag for Cordy and her she-goons. "We could make Xander open his birthday presents?"

Xander lunged at Willow's comment before Jesse could so much as buy a vowel. "Bitchin' idea, Will," he said, his voice cracking on the last syllable as the savagely arousing image of Cordelia Chase untying her bikini top a la _Fast Times at Ridgemont High _ran through his mind's eye in glorious Technicolor_. _

Jesse must have seen it, too, because he whined deep in his throat, then fell back against the cushions like a limp, depressed noodle. Despite his burning, yearning passion for all things Queen C, even he knew when to give up the ghost and let Willow win. "Yeah, okay. I guess it might be cool to do Xand's presents."

"Great!" Relief washed over Willow's features like the first air-conditioned breeze on a hot, summer day. She snatched the two gifts from their hiding spot behind the TV, then hurried back to the couch, a noticeable bounce in her already springy step. "This one's from me," she said, handing Xander a small, rectangular box covered in smiley face paper.

He shook it back and forth, balancing the weight on his palm, and said, "Willow, bestest bud of mine, how on earth did you fit Amy Yip inside this teeny, tiny box?"

A hiccup of laughter from Jesse. "Witchcraft."

"Yep, you got me. Willow, the teen witch, here."

Xander cocked his head in mock-consideration, then cut his eyes to Jesse. "She does have red hair and do funny dances."

"And she _is_ a teen," Jesse agreed.

Willow rolled her eyes, pretending to be annoyed despite the fact that both boys could see her legs giggling with excitement. "Just open my present, Xander."

"As you wish, Wills."

He saluted, tearing into the paper with more gusto than was technically necessary. Then again, these were the only two presents he would be getting this year, so the added dose of enthusiasm could hardly be helped. When he looked down at his hands, however, his heart clenched in anti-climax. _What the what? _his brain supplied, even as his mouth forced itself into a strained half-smile.

"It's a Tweety Bird watch," Willow said, her eyes flickering back and forth between the bright blue wristband and her best friend's face. When he didn't immediately answer, she gave him the basset hound eyes and asked, "Don't you like it?" in just about the sweetest voice he'd ever heard.

Xander shook the bats out of his belfry and hugged Willow tight against his chest. She'd probably spent months of her allowance on this watch, and the impact of that simple recognition was enough to make it his most prized possession. "I love it, Will," he said, his voice suddenly gooey with emotion. "Really, I do."

"Oh, good," Willow replied, and he could feel her body go sluggish against his. "I just thought it would be nice because, y'know, the Looney Tunes gang was fully emblematic of our childhoods."

"I don't know what emblematic means, but sure."

Willow's laugh vibrated against the back of Xander's neck, and—not for the first time in his short twelve years, three hundred and sixty-four days, and twenty-two hours—he thanked God and LeVar Burton that someone as smarty-pants special as Willow Danielle Rosenberg considered him her best friend.

When she pulled back from the hug, he noticed that her eyes were bloated with happy tears. It made him happy, too. That is, until Jesse coughed overly loud and shoved birthday present #2 under his nose.

"Sorry to break up this truly touching moment," he said, "but I think it's time for the J-Man's gift."

Xander reached inside the plastic bag (Jesse was never one for presentation), and pulled out something that made his blood run hot: the Victoria's Secret lingerie catalog.

"Wow."

Three letters, one syllable. Xander wanted to say more, but his tongue felt slow and heavy, and he couldn't.

"I know," Jesse replied. "Left me speechless, too."

Willow dropped her eyes to the cover photo of Stephanie Seymour and her spectacularly spectacular breasts. "This is _not _a birthday present," she hissed. "You just stole it from your mom." A pregnant pause. "Also, it's gross."

Jesse pressed his fingers into the corners of his eyes. "A. It's not gross, it's sexy; B. It's _totally_ a present, given out of love and male camaraderie; and C. We're not all rich like you, so shut up."

Willow had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. "Sorry," she said, her ears tipped in pink. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"S'okay."

Jesse play-punched Willow in the arm, then turned his full attention back to Xander, who was now staring at the magazine in catatonic shock, his eyes dilated, and his mouth hanging open like a flytrap. "You need me to get you a drool cup?"

Xander blinked, shaking himself from his reverie. "No. No, I'm good," he said, his fingers thumbing through the pages till realization hit him like a cartoon boxing glove on a spring. "Why do these boobs have Aura's face on 'em?"

Jesse raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? I cut out all the hot girls' yearbook photos and taped 'em over the models. That way, you can see cheerleaders in their underpants without having to sneak into the girl's locker room!"

"Oh." The sound Xander made when he swallowed was almost comical. "What a fun, sexy time for me," he babbled, the knot of discomfort tightening downstairs as his eyes came to rest on a very familiar pair of pearly whites. Cordelia Chase, his mortal enemy-cum-leading lady of his X-rated dreams, stared back at him with perfect hazel eyes. Her head had been cropped off at the neck and pasted over the face of a big-breasted model in red lingerie. Oh, and said model just so happened to be rubbing herself against a phallic, oversized candy cane. Yay?

"The ball-dropping thingy's about to happen," Willow said, and Xander could tell that she was getting flustered. Apparently, girls _really _didn't like looking at naughty pictures of other girls.

"Ten, nine, eight," Willow and Jesse counted in unison.

Xander threw an arm around each of their shoulders and started counting, too. "Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one..."

* * *

Several long hours later, Xander found himself in bed, the girly magazine propped up against his naked thigh. It was opened to page seventeen. The Cordelia page.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the big, bright mouth in front of him, Xander allowed his right hand to sleepwalk inside his boxers and squeeze. After two minutes of wild imagining, his stomach dropped to his knees, and he came. It was an orgasm of steel-melting, ground-shaking intensity, the kind only mature thirteen year-olds had, and it filled him with manly pride. But then, he looked down at his messy sheets, and it all went to hell in a cartoon birdie-shaped hand basket. How could he possibly have the sex (re: _imagine_ having the sex) with someone who treated Will like dirt?

The Xander-shaped-devil on his shoulder was quick to respond: _Because she's hotter than lava, and her boobs look really squishy. _

The argument was solid. Next time, he'd masturbate without the watch on.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it: my first piece of creative writing in six whole months! Gosh, has it really been that long? Anyway, if you enjoyed reading this story half as much as I enjoyed writing it, drop me a line. I love hearing from fellow _BtVS_ fans and would really like to know what you all thought of this chapter. As always, I'm open to corrective criticism and suggestions.

Until next time...


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